


Pure F*cking Evil

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Bottom!Lucifer, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Consort Castiel, Consort Dean Winchester, Consort Lucifer, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Human Furniture, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Top!Sam, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6892156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The angels had failed them; everyone had failed them. Sam had no other choice. He’d gone back to drinking demon blood, becoming powerful enough to overpower Lucifer himself. It was at that moment, two years ago, that Sam secured his place as the Boy King of Hell. Demons bowed to him, cried and begged for his forgiveness – But Sam is a ruthless king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pure F*cking Evil

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN Kink Bingo   
> Square filled: Human Furniture
> 
> A/N: Please, please, please always practice SSC when dabbling with BDSM - care for yourself and your submissive/dominant.

It shouldn’t have happened this way. That’s what Dean keeps telling himself as he watches his baby brother snap a demon into non-existence. He shudders, imperceptible to the human eye, but the bell balanced delicately on the end of his erect cock slips, falling to the cold stone floor with a jingle.

 

Sam turns, his eyes as yellow as the sun, and his fury just as hot.

 

“I told you to be still.” His approach is slow, deadly, and Dean can feel himself begin to shake. He would have spoken could he, but the ball gag placed firmly in his mouth prevented any noise except a few grunts – furniture needn’t speak.

 

The glasses, half filled with blood, wine, and whiskey begin to clatter against the metal tray strapped to his arms – he’d been holding this position for two hours already – his fear combined with muscle fatigue was finally wearing him down.

 

“You know what happens to furniture that isn’t useful, Dean.” Sam’s nose is inches away from his own, those yellow eyes taunting him – he’d failed to save him, and in turn, he’d destroyed the world.

 

The first lash wasn’t so bad – it never was. Sam may have been the Boy King, but he still cared for his brother in his own twisted way. Dean was never pushed further than his body would allow.

  
Still he winced, the first glass – a champagne flute, tipping over and spilling the red contents down his sweaty chest.

 

Sam tsk-ed behind him. He drew the whip back once more and brought it down, this lash welting the freckled skin on Dean’s back. Of course it healed instantly – but it still stung. Dean hissed as well as he could, smacking his front teeth off the metal ball between them.

 

The third and fourth, fifth and sixth, pause. Seventh and eighth, ninth, and finally tenth. Dean gave a muffled sob when the final blow landed – the whip replaced by Sam’s hands, hot against his already burning skin.

 

“Shh… You took your punishment beautifully, De.” Dean closed his eyes, a tear tracing down his dirty cheek at the use of his human nickname.

 

As Sam walked away, and Dean couldn’t help but admire the beautiful way his brother moved. Hell had done wonders for the gangly twenty-seven-year-old. Gone was his baby fat – replaced by hard muscle, always shining in the low lights of the dungeon they called home.

 

He’d grown a few inches, he was now taller than Dean, and in his constant state of nudity it quickly became clear that Sam was bigger than Dean in other ways – not that Dean minded; he’d never had an orgasm better than the ones that he’d had riding his baby brother’s cock.

The room goes silent as Sam walked across it. A simple black throne sits in the center of the room, but Sam prefers his personal furniture. Dean is usually by his side as a table next to the throne – but he’d disobeyed last week and come before Sam had given him permission – so he’d been shuffled to a corner to hold drinks for Sam’s minion demons.

 

Now it’s Castiel, the angel that tried so hard to save the Winchester brothers, that had a place at Sam’s side. Dean envies his talent. Being inhuman already – Cas hadn’t needed to learn how to become still – a piece of furniture for their Boy King. No, he could remain still for hours, not a single muscle twitching out of place.

 

Despite this, Sam still enjoyed restraining the angel – part of his punishment, Dean supposed – that would continue for eternity. At least Dean is in good standing with Sam. He glances over at Cas, his arms and legs bound to the floor by shackles that prevented movement, a weight swinging heavily from his balls. He balances an iron tabletop on his back, spine straight – that holds the Boy King’s food and drink.

 

Sam bypasses him without so much as a second look. Instead he approaches the only other piece of furniture in the dark dungeon.

 

Lucifer.

 

Prince of Hell.

 

Belial.

 

The Beast.

 

Father of Lies.

 

King of the Bottomless Pit.

 

The Serpent of Old.

 

The Fallen Angel.

 

The Boy King’s Couch.

 

The fear that Dean had once felt when thinking of Lucifer was now nearly laughable. He thought back to their time on earth, the time they were both good, human men. The angels had failed them; everyone had failed them. And Dean had failed Sam. So Sam had no other choice. He’d gone back to drinking demon blood, eventually becoming powerful enough to overpower Lucifer himself. It was at that moment, two years ago, that Sam secured his place as the Boy King of Hell. Demons bowed to him, cried and begged for his forgiveness – But Sam is a ruthless king.

Sam kicks Lucifer hard in the cock, but the blonde doesn’t react – Dean feels a twinge of envy – Lucifer is such a good Pet.

 

“Rise.” Sam’s voice carries – echoes through the room. Lucifer rises immediately, eyes drawn to his bare feet. He, like the rest of them, is naked, save for a collar around his neck and a set of iron cuffs around his wrists that prevent him deserting his vessel – Sam has proclaimed how much he enjoys the form of Nick.

 

Sam grabs Lucifer by the hair, dragging him to where Dean still stands, trying his hardest to stay still.

 

“Clean it up.” Sam says, releasing Lucifer with a shove. Immediately the Morning Star falls to his knees, licking the spilled wine from the floor. He moves over Dean’s naked body, running his tongue flatly up any expanse of skin marred with the sticky alcohol.

 

When Lucifer finishes cleaning every inch of Dean save for his red, aching cock, he looks up at Sam with wide, watery eyes. “May I?”

 

“You may.”

  
“Thank you, my King.” Lucifer whispers before turning his attention back to Dean, swallowing his cock down in one smooth motion.

 

Dean gasps around the ball gag, meeting Sam’s eyes – their human color now. He pleads with his gaze, forcing his body to stay still, but Sam doesn’t react. He knows he’s not allowed to come without permission – no matter how amazing the Devil’s mouth might be.

 

Sam walks away, leaving Dean to his torture, and approaches Cas. “How are we today, Angel? You may speak.”

 

“Doing well, my King.” Castiel whispers, his head hung. Sam crouches, his cock inches away from Cas’ face.

 

“Pleasure me.”

 

“As you wish, my King.” Cas whispers before swallowing Sam down.

 

Dean meets Sam’s gaze across the room. This is punishment. Sam knows how protective Dean is of his brother – even if his brother is the most powerful creature in existence. His jealousy knows no bounds when it comes to anything about Sam – even sex. They reside permanently in Hell – what do they care about incest anymore? Plus, with what Sam has become – Dean wonders at times if they are still brothers.

 

It only takes a few minutes for Sam to come, releasing deep down Castiel’s throat. If he were human, it’s a guarantee that he’d choke. But he’s not, so he swallows with a grimace as Sam pulls out, walking back to Dean. His cock is already hardening again, and he’s looking at his older brother like Dean is nothing more than a piece of meat – _furniture_ – Dean reminds himself. He stays focused on Sam’s face, anything to distract him from Lucifer’s talented tongue and throat.

  
Sam grabs Lucifer’s hair and pulls him back before positioning him the way he wants – a perfect angle to fuck his face. Sam’s hips begin to thrust against Lucifer’s mouth – the Devil is crying by now – and he leans over the platter on Dean’s arms.

 

With a flick of his wrist, the ball gag is loose, and Dean allows it to drop to the platter with a clang. He works his jaw silently, still staring defiantly at his King. It’s not like Sam minds – he’s told Dean multiple times how much he loves the defiant streak in him – it keeps him aroused and interested… People under the King’s command are less likely to end up obliterated if they keep him interested.

 

Sam’s mouth closing over Dean’s surprises the older Winchester – Dean is the only one that Sam will kiss, but the kisses are few and far between – a form of reward.

 

Despite the surprise, Dean whines, leaning into the kiss, savoring the bitter taste that has permeated Sam’s entire being – a side effect of the demon blood – sulfur.

 

Tongues tangling, the fingers of one of Sam’s big hands fist Dean’s hair, while the other begins stripping his cock furiously. Dean gives a sobbing moan into Sam’s mouth, tears spilling down his cheeks once more – he loved when his King gave him personal attention. He wouldn’t make a mistake this time. He’d be a good Pet.

 

Sam pulls back and releases Dean’s cock for a moment to slap Lucifer upside the head. “Back to your spot, Pet.”

 

Lucifer obeys immediately, skittering back to his spot on his hands and knees. He freezes in the perfect position for Sam to sit on.

 

Sam focuses his attention back on Dean, reaching up to stroke his tear stained cheek. “My big brother. Have you learned your lesson?”

 

“Yes, my King.” Dean whispers. Sam nods and reaches out, undoing the straps holding the platter to Dean’s arms. He passes it off to a demon that seemed to appear out of nowhere and takes Dean into his arms.

  
“Come.” He leads Dean to Lucifer. “Fuck him.”

 

Dean nods and kneels behind Lucifer. “May I come, my King?”

“Ask when you’re close, and I will give you an answer… Where would you like my cock, De?”

 

“My ass please.”

 

“My pleasure. Eurynome!”

 

The demon appears from a doorway, bowing low. “Yes, my King?” He asks in a soft voice, fearing punishment.

 

“Release the Angel, bring him to us.”

 

The demon scurried to do his King’s bidding, freeing Cas and dragging him over to the group. Cas leaned low, kissing the floor in front of Sam’s feet. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Let the Devil suck you off. If he doesn’t make you come by the time I am finished – well, I’ll deal with him.”

 

Dean smiles darkly – though he knows he’s Sam’s favorite, Cas is a close second – Lucifer receives the brunt of Sam’s anger most days.

 

Their bodies writhing together would have been enough to make the most seasoned pornographer blush. Sam never allows them to use lube – not that it matters – the pain in so intense that it becomes pure pleasure.

 

Sam gives in to Dean’s pleas, allowing him to come shortly after Sam’s own release. Lucifer manages to get Cas to release with moments to spare – Dean is sure that Sam is a bit disappointed that he won’t be able to punish his Pet.

 

It only takes a few minutes for Sam to have his Pets back the way they’re meant to be. His Angel is a drink tray, perfectly still, balanced on his toes. His Devil is a couch, head low, back muscles tense – ready for a person’s weight. And his Dean – His big brother – is by his side, the iron tabletop set across his back, but Dean’s eyes never leave his face.

 

Dean knows he screwed up when he let Sammy take a drink of that demon blood again. But, he realizes as he watches his brother rule Hell with an iron fist – even if given the option – he’d never do anything different.


End file.
